


Brittle Light, Engulfing Darkness

by Morgyn Leri (morgynleri)



Series: Queen of Mercy and Grace [3]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Don’t copy to another site, Explicit Sexual Content, GFY, Other, reference to past rape, reference to past torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-21 04:26:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17636006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgynleri/pseuds/Morgyn%20Leri
Summary: He cannot leave them, no matter how much he hates what he has become to stay.





	Brittle Light, Engulfing Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> Notes from the tumblr post: explicit sexual content, fucked up brain-space, references to previous rape and torture, implied mind-wiping and torture

She bites his lower lip as he pushes her against the wall, bringing up one hand to dig her nails into the back of his neck. He's no gentler with her, fingers tight enough on her hips they'll leave bruises as lingering reminders of his hate. Hate for her, hate for what he has helped her build, hate for what they have been made into. Reminder too, of the despair that underlies that hate, and the desperate affection and sick twist of love buried deeply underneath it all. The love that had been exploited to destroy so much of what he had held dear.

"Remember what is at stake if you break, Obi-Wan." Her whisper is breathless laughter, cruel amusement. Something different from the woman he'd met twenty years ago and more on Naboo. The fierce young queen who would do anything for her people. And yet, she is still so very much that woman, doing what she thinks will help the most people, will keep those she has claimed as her own safe and happy.

"As if I could forget." He leans his forehead against hers, wishing he could leave, that he could stop, though he knows he can't. Cannot leave any of them here alone, lost in darkness so deep he cannot see a way out.

Leaning in, he kisses her again, opening his mind to the bond he loves and loathes, blanking out thought and emotion under the blinding light and suffocating dark. Feeling familiar hands resting over his, tall and broad body pressed against his back as he slides into place. Letting instinct and conditioning alike drive his motions, long rolls of the hips and hungry kisses.

She laughs, and digs her fingernails into his shoulders, letting her head fall back as she meets his movements. Looking past him to the person behind him, that he carefully pretends not to entirely notice, no more than he must. No matter how hyper-aware he is. It's better to pretend he does not notice.

Cool, metallic fingers trace down his spine, and he shivers a little, faltering before sinking a little further into the whirl that blots out thought and self. Just feeling, as slick liquid slides over his skin, directed by fingers, one almost impersonal pressed into him slowly. Relaxing into it, as he is opened while keeping the steady rhythm she wants from him. Fingers that do are not warm, do not warm, not letting him forget where he is, what they are, not entirely.

When she pulls back, shoving at his shoulders, he goes willingly. From brilliant, brittle light to engulfing darkness, pressed down into the bed that dominates the room. He rests his forehead against one arm, blindly staring into the soft sheets as hands roam his back, warm flesh and cool metal contrasting as they trace every scar etched in his skin. Some he can place to a battle, a fight, others he pretends do not exist.

A soft kiss is pressed to the back of his neck. "Do you want me to stop, Obi-Wan?"

"No." He closes his eyes, shifting slightly as he reaches for a pillow. "Please."

The pillow is taken from his hand, and settled under his hips. "Tell me what you want, Obi-Wan." Another too-gentle kiss. "Tell me you want this."

It threatens to pull him from the safety of non-thought, and he has to take a deep breath, opening himself further to the bond that has twisted his life for too long. Letting it sweep away doubts that will creep back in later.

"I want you to fuck me." He turns his head, moving his arm out from under so he can spread them both wide. Holding onto the soft sheets, feeling the invisible tug of half-forgotten conditioning. "Please, Imperator."

A quiet and happy sigh is a puff of breath over his skin, and fingers flesh and cybernetic grip his hips to hold him still as he is penetrated. As the other slides slowly into him, filling him just shy of pain. Aware as much as he is of the limits which can be pressed. Hunger slides along the bond, and he pushes back to meet it, to seek that edge of painful oblivion.

It only earns him hands tightening against him, holding him steady and still for the slow pace, advance and retreat like waves lapping at a crumbling shore. Dragging him back, piece by reluctant piece, until he cannot help but feel every drop of despair and rage and hate he has for what the universe has become, what he has become in it. The mix of hunger and pain and desire and revulsion he has for even the simple act of sharing his body with these two, who he loves so deeply it hurts, and has learned to hate in equal measure.

"There you are." Her voice is gentle in his ears, and he bares his teeth in a snarl that only provokes soft laughter. "Come for us, Obi-Wan."

He thinks it a mark of how well he'd learned his role in this dance, whether it is those he loves or those he hates or something of both, that he obeys, that his body flushes warm with the satiation of desire, tension coiling and breaking, leaving him panting and limp as the other continues to thrust, taking his time finding his own release. Darkness once more creeping into the bond, like ice sinking into his bones, as he's left empty and alone in the aftermath.

Curling up when he knows they've gone, when they've left not just the room, but the building as well, and only then letting himself think of more than the immediate.

Of the man in armor of an older empire who brings him those he cannot save, to be scoured clean like sand sculpting desert rock.

Of the first horror he had completed, worse than those wretched who are lost, worse than the mind he'd first twisted to the will of those he cannot leave.

Taking a shakey breath, he climbs from the bed, leaving it behind to be stripped and cleaned and made up again by fearful shadows. They will never be able to leave, but they will not forget who they are, and they will live. Sometimes he doesn't know if it is a mercy or a cruelty that he has done to them.

A simple cloak is all he pulls on. No one here will care if he does not look the part of the outside world. If their protector and captor walked with nothing but his lightsaber through the halls, they would still be the same shadows they are now.

On the roof of his home, he sits and watches the stars. Names them, in litany of those that still live, and those that have been snuffed out in the war to bring her mercy to the whole of the galaxy. Stars give way to names of planets, of people, from the very first horror to the latest wretch screaming under his hands.

Only when the first rays of light break the horizon does he go back inside, drawing on his own bloodied mask for a new day.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to tumblr 4 April 2016.


End file.
